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Mor did not look back at his lesser fairies even though he heard one or two of them gasp.

The ruby-haired war fae in the street slowed his wrangling. He didn’t remove his pale-skinned grip from the childling boy’s arm, however. Rather, he turned to face Mor, and Mor gazed upon a folk who was just as tall as him, and possibly even more shapely in his muscled frame. The fairy’s sharp, pointed ears twitched as though he wondered if he’d heard Mor correctly. And when he smiled…

Queensbane, when he smiled.

The darkness of midnight and a glisten of the moon were in that evil smile.

Mor felt a ripple of fear move through the lesser fairies at his back. Even the crossbeasts groaned and shuffled as the wind picked up and the air turned cold. The childling boy stifled a wail and dropped a handful of ripe sugar blossom seeds to the dusty path where the mud instantly swallowed them. Pink sugar buds sprouted at the childling’s feet. He stared down at the fresh flowers in dismay.

The ruby-haired fairy seemed uninterested in the sugar blossoms now.

“Don’t you know who I am, fool?” he asked Mor. The tone of the fairy’s voice told Mor he had missed something important. It was a tone that weaved a tale of a certain authority Mor had not picked up on during his approach. A master, maybe? A High Lord? No, the fairy wore the same black pearl armour as he. A golden necklace rested at his throat with exactly nine scarlet, feather-like tails with pure white tips. As Mor studied the clues, the fairy released his grip on the childling. The boy raced off on his tiny faeborn feet, dropping his spare sugar blossom seeds the whole way.

It was only then that Mor spotted the twisted threads around the Shadow Fairy’s wrist—crimson in colour and woven into a four-strand braid. Heaviness sank through Mor’s stomach. Yet, when he lifted his gaze to the fairy and saw not even a speck of remorse, his jaw hardened.

“I don’t care who you are. I’m detaining you in accordance with the Shadow Army’s fairy law.” Mor’s hand was around the fairy’s wrist in a heartbeat. He yanked an enchanted vine from his pocket and slapped it on—first on the ruby-haired fairy’s wrist, and then on his own, tethering them by flesh, blood, and body, until whenever he might decide to break the vine by his own teeth.

The Shadow Fairy’s wicked smile melted. “You’re doomed, you fool.”

“And you’re going to face the wrath of the commanders for harming a childling,” Mor promised.

“If you look at that childling—” the Shadow Fairy pointed in the direction the boy had run with his seeds “—you will see he is unmarked, apart from a few scrapes he gave himself while fighting me. I simply wanted his sugar seeds to present as a gift to my father.” He angled his head like a crossbeast. “I suppose you don’t know who my father is?”

“I imagine he’s one of the faeborn army commanders based on your wristlet. Let’s go.”

Mor tugged the fairy who followed without objection.

They rode through the city on Mor’s crossbeast, wrists bound together. The Shadow Fairy made no comments on the trek to the temporary Shadow Army base in the woods, though, even his silence told a story. Howlings chirped at the group of fae as they rode beneath the black branches and pushed through silver shrubs. Even the lesser fairies who followed at Mor’s back were silent—likely afraid for their faeborn lives simply because they’d been in Mor’s company when he’d arrested a commander’s son.

The scent of crisping hog meat wafted through the trees as they reached the tall cooking fires. Mor slid off his beast and the ruby-haired fairy followed in what seemed like mock respect. “You’ll die today,” the fairy said as they rounded the path and approached the circle of stick thrones erected for the high leaders of the Shadow Army. Mor had never entered their circle before. He’d never had a reason to.

The leaders—commanders and strategists and even a low prince of the Dark Corner—were still filing into their seats for the evening meeting when Mor entered the circle, without permission and without being announced. If the most powerful of the Shadow Army didn’t know Mor’s face up until this day, they would know it now.

“I beg an audience,” Mor stated simply, drawing the brown and silver eyes of his own commander up in surprise. His commander had never heard Mor’s voice. He had disregarded Mor as a mute fool after several months of unanswered questions.

“What in the name of the sky deities are you—”

“The High Prince has arrived,” a fairy announced, making the commanders close their mouths.

When High Prince Reval entered the circle by a graceful sweep of his white and red robes, his aged gaze settled on Mor first. Then on the Shadow Fairy at Mor’s side. He glided to his seat, his long crimson hair brushing over his shoulders in a chilly wind. And Mor’s eyes slid closed in disbelief as he realized exactly who this was, and who the fairy beside him must have been.

“What brings you before the inner circle, Son? Did you manage to capture a childling with sugar blossom seeds for me like I asked?” The High Prince lowered onto his twig throne, and the enchanted vine wrapping Mor’s wrist grew hot.

The Shadow Fairy at Mor’s side stepped forward and performed a shallow bow toward the High Prince. “Nearly, Father. But this fairy stopped me.” He nodded toward Mor, and the stare of every eye around the circle warmed Mor’s skin as much as the vine.

Mor took in the High Prince, heir to the throne of the Dark Corner of Ever. The most powerful and rumoured to be the most wicked of souls. The one who owned the Shadow Army, who held them in their place under his royal thumb.

Mor saw the choices before him and for a moment, he considered releasing the Shadow Fairy and begging for mercy. But the eyes of the High Prince were just as darkly unapologetic as his son’s, and for that, Mor found he could not let it go.

“I detained him for harassing a childling in the open street.” Though Mor’s voice was naturally softer and quieter than most, he stated it clean and clear. “It’s a crime to harm a childling, regardless of where the order came from.” His tongue felt heavy. He knew he might lose it soon. “I was ashamed travelling the streets today beneath the eyes of the sky deities. Ashamed to wear the same colour of armour as this fairy.” He jabbed his thumb toward the Shadow Fairy. “Ashamed to be riding among the cruel hearts of this army. I cannot lie about that.”

There were no gasps. The commanders knew better. But there were glares. Fingers tightened on twig armrests, and Mor’s own commander leaned forward with a promise of forthcoming torture in his eyes.

High Prince Reval rose from his twig throne. He drifted over the grass that shivered in his wake. When he reached Mor, he looked down upon him intently. “Those feelings you have,” he said, “they will bring pain and death to your door if you cannot get them under control.”

“Kill him, Father,” the Shadow Fairy said. “Do it terribly.”

When the High Prince’s aged face warped into a smile, it was just as beautifully alluring and dangerously broad as his son’s. “What faeborn justice that would be,” he said in a dark, musical voice.